Cornflower
by Annie Christ
Summary: Alligator wrangling in leather boots, salon prostitutes and peppered with love letters.
1. Whiskey Love Letter

I said I'd never write another akuroku fan fiction, and then Cornflower happened.

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><p><em>You're going to be like everyone else, they said. You're going to fall for the bait, and it's going to rip through your throat like a hook on fishing line. No one is going to warn you, and that's because humans in this day and age appreciate a good failure. There's nothing quite like personified cataclysm. We're the species responsible for the creation of the coliseums; the ones who decided to pass our time watching gladiators go at one another's jugulars so they could maybe see the inky dawn of another day. It's only natural for us to titter at our peers when the worst rots them from the inside out. For all the world knows, this could very well be based on primitive instincts. After all, we are only animals.<em>

_We being animals was why I wasn't terrified of letting myself know that the grassy field we smoked in would be the very place I'd learn what skin tasted like. In the grand scheme of things, I guess I was a bleeding-heart romantic with too much tar on my organs to properly express a healthy confession. You weren't aware that I had made you mine the moment you let me kiss you with chewing tobacco soaking into my cheek. Baby, you were unafraid and generally vile, which is why all of this hurts so bad to think about. It's not right. We're not right, but it's gotten to the point that a little ache feels like home, and that's what I do. I ache. I ache a lot. The moment you left was the when the cancer seeped beneath my ribcage. When I breathe it rattles. What'd you do to me, baby? What did you knock loose when you took the train out of town? Come home. Fix me good._

_I should have told you I'd miss you, but at that time, I couldn't find my ass with both hands. I consumed too much whiskey for words because having a diluted mind was better than processing how much trouble we were headed for. I regret that now, and not a drop has passed my lips since the moment you started packing. You weren't my wife, you said. This wasn't how it was going to work, you said. There was more out there for you than a life behind closed doors and dark curtains. It was one hell of a bitch for you to tell me you loved me before you walked out my front door. No, that was our front door. It still is, and it's always going to be that way, baby. I'm not selling, and none of the things you left behind are moving. I don't work that way. You know me._

_Remember that night I put my hands on you? It should have stopped there, but for some reason, you let me apologize. You're the only person who's seen me cry, and after all that happened, and after that cornflower blue began rising on your cheek, I put my hands on you the way I should have. I know you tried, baby. I know you wanted so bad to make sure only one person cried that night, but you couldn't help it. I loved you the way I should have, and then your heart broke for what would probably be the twentieth time. Nothing was comfortable for you because my commitment laid there like a fallen leaf. That hurt you thought you hid so well never went unnoticed, but I was in denial about how much pressure you could take because I'm a selfish man. When you pleaded for me to try, I raised my glass, knocked her back, and went out without you. That's when you left._

_Maybe if I was stronger, I wouldn't be writing this, but it's time I let you know how much I regret who I've been. We're a lost cause. Oh, trust me, baby, I know better than anyone else, but that's not shit to me until you tell me there's someone else who makes those bright blues turn glassy when spoken to the right way. Tell me if you find another man who can coheres those quiet noises from the back of your throat that only the walls and I know about. That'll be the day you can see me off for good. I was thinking about it, and you never gave me an exact address, but I'm sure your momma knows where her only son is, so I'm going to seal this up tight and let her send it your way. That good woman never said a word, but she knew. I think everyone does now. I haven't been the same since you left._

_I hurt you, and I don't want that to be how you remember me for the rest of your life, so I'm going to find a train, and I'm going to take it out to that city you kept talking about. I'm going to find you and make it right. We don't have to go back to where we came from if you really don't want to. My home is wherever you and I sleep side by side at night, and baby, I'm homesick. I want to be home so bad it keeps me up all night. If you get this, then you better expect me because I can't do this living thing without you. You've done ruined me._


	2. Lace Love Letter

Oh, yeah, this is a heavy fan fiction by the way.

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><p><em>Where I've ended up ain't a place for a man who loves someone. Pack up that suitcase, go back on home to that woods surrounded cabin and find yourself a pretty little wife who can give you all the babies I never could. These vermin coated streets where the innocent find themselves holding onto the rim of bathroom sinks while another man holds their waist and promises enough for a room above the bar are now my fields of knee high grass. You don't have the nerve to love me the way you used to, but you don't know this yet because you're set in half a year ago when the only knowledge about the world I had derived from what you murmured beneath the night sky. That felt real good, you know? I didn't even understand just how good any of that was until the second man left cornflower blue on the inside of my thighs. We don't ever realize what's good until we lose it. Why is that? I want to know, but I think it all goes on back to us being human. I'd rather have a conversation with a fox in a field than humans. Animals are better than us. Don't go fooling yourself.<em>

_You're a damn good man. You're the best man I'll ever know, and though I've got a lot of living left in me, I don't feel like this will ever change, but I'm not the best man you'll ever meet. It's not right. We're not right, and for me, that's not okay when you're able to treat someone so good. I'm no good, Axel. Down to the money I used to buy this paper with. It's all dirty. Loving me would be like licking the barn floor you and I got to know so well, and doing that to you isn't how I'd like to love you in return. My momma used to tell me that the best way she could have loved my daddy was by letting him go and do his own thing, and I'm starting to see why she felt the way she did about the man. Just because I ain't coming back to your bed don't mean I don't think about it every god damn day. I'm never going to be home, and it hurts. I hurt just like you._

_Still caught up on that incident? Don't you worry your pretty head. Everyone knows you never confront a man with the whiskey blues, and I didn't think that maybe you weren't happy. I thought it was just you being like every husband in town, but you were as unhappy as me, weren't you? I know. You'll never tell me that because you probably didn't even know yourself. What were you trying to drown in that bottle, Axel? When did things start to burn your chest more than amber liquids? Was it when you realized you'd never have any sons? Was it when I told you I'd never be your wife? Things are harder when you're more in love than anyone you know because no one understands. We weren't normal to begin with, so it only made things prick harder._

_I miss those curtains in your bedroom. The ones I made while you were rolling those cigarettes. I did it mainly because the sunlight made me so damn mad in the mornings, and though they were clumsy, it was as if I'd put my first mark on what was going to be our home. Sometimes, the sun would filter on through in the mornings, and it'd cast a line over your face. I'd think about dragging the tip of my finger over that stripe because it led down the entirety of your body. You're damn beautiful, you know? I called you handsome to your face. All the time I called you that, but you're beautiful in the way you carry yourself. Your skin is blessed by the sun, and those damn eyes are greener than any tree I've seen, but that's not what made me fall for you. It was the way you spoke, the way your work-calloused fingers carried cigarettes. When your chest would rise in bed as you inhaled smoke, I'd watch those details. They made me feel in multiple ways on various days. Sometimes, I'd ache because I knew forever wasn't for us, and other days, I'd relish in the fact that you were mine. Those were the times when I couldn't imagine life without you. That was when I believed in forever._

_You took my train south. You're on your way here. What if I see you on the streets? What happens then? Will I ask you to pay me a twenty for a service in the back of the bar? Will I drop the world I have now and come back to you? I don't know if I can leave behind a world for a second time, Axel. I just don't know where my strength is. Leaving you drained me for what feels like good, so if you find me, if we find one another, be patient. I'm not tough like you. I can't hide when things ache the way you can. You were stoic, and sometimes, I didn't even know you loved me. That ain't your fault, though. It saved us, and it kept me safe. I don't have that here. I'm not safe, and I wish I could be more like you. Really though, I'm thinking I just wish you were here._


	3. Chapter One

_I had too much fun writing this._

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><p><strong><em> Chapter One<em>**

There's nothing like being displaced, which is what I was the second my foot escaped from the confines of a moving chunk of metal that was the god forsaken train my ass had been on for days. The second fresh air ripped into my lungs, I shoved a hand into my back pocket and made a point to soften the blow by fumbling with a crushed pack of cigarettes and a lighter that had nearly had it from use throughout my excursion. It wasn't my intention to arrive on a platform on the outskirts of a city I had no prior knowledge of, but all the free time I'd had while lounging around on the train had been occupied by thoughts about shit I couldn't change. In retrospect, I suppose I couldn't have done a significant amount of planning considering where I was, but I still wasn't prepared in any form or fashion. I was on the border of New Orleans, Louisiana with a bag over my peeling shoulder, enough cash to barely get me started, and an erroneous accent that was going to give my home place away the moment I opened my mouth. Even though I had gone to the fields for work, I was a bayou boy through and through with a Cajun ancestry that bled straight into my skin pigment.

Taking in my surroundings as my booted feet trudged towards a wooden staircase that had seen better days; there wasn't anything spectacular about the outdoor station. The sun was heading straight for a love session with the horizon, and the air was thick with moisture that wasn't unbearable for someone like me who had grown up in one of the steamiest places in the country. Aside from a steady normalcy in weather, I wasn't particularly awestruck by my first impression. Unexpectedly though, the lackluster state of things lasted for approximately five seconds before I abruptly turned a brick corner to find myself standing on the side of a river opposite to the very city I was gunning to pick through. Now placed before the haystack containing my needle, I was face to face with the enormity of the situation and a city that was just beginning to wake up.

"Say, champ." There was a tap on my shoulder, and my doe eyes narrowed back down to their normal size. "Where you headed?"

Turning around with faux-indifference, I found myself staring straight at a man dressed in a suit that looked as if God himself had projectile vomited orange juice onto a violet finger-painting. He was blond with blue eyes that were eerily empty and a shit eating grin I had one hell of a time looking at. With greased back hair and leather gloves coating his fingers, he extended is hand to me. I reluctantly took it for a polite shake.

"New Orleans."

"'Course you are." He dropped my hand. "Ferry leaves soon, and I'm headed there myself. My name's Luxord Cheraime, boy. You got one of those?"

"Axel Barrow, sir." I needed to take advantage of his welcoming demeanor. "You said you were goin' on the ferry—"

"Cajun boy! That's one hell of an accent you've got there!"

_" My momma doesn't hire folk like you." His fingertips drummed along the banister of that wrapping front porch, and his eyes were nothing but taunting optics unlike any kind of sky. It was the kind of blue seen only along the rim of the moon. "Especially alligator huntin' kind."_

_ Glancing at his hands, I noticed the pallor accompanying smoothness. "Boy, you ever work a day in your damn life?"_

_ His freckle splotched nose wrinkled. "I don't need to answer to the likes of you."_

_ "That's what I thought." Dropping my bag at my feet, I planted a hand on my hip. "God didn't make you any more special than me, lady hands. Go find your momma for me, then you can go back to needling with your sisters."_

My lips swept into a faint frown. "Born into it."

Luxord decided that was a good enough rebuttal for him, and he motioned for me to follow him down the platform. Our steps fell in time, and I couldn't help but dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands. While doing so, I scanned those surrounding me with my teeth nipping at that nerveless skin scattered throughout the inside of my cheeks. Everyone was living their lives and going about their own personal business. Mothers in their clacking heels with children yanking at their hands for candy pieces and youth proudly exclaiming how much whiskey they had choked down before driving the porcelain bus; it was all typical, but I wanted to pick their brains. Maybe they knew where Roxas was or maybe they had done seen him.

"You ever been to New Orleans, Barrow?"

"No, sir." I abandoned my cigarette as a courtesy gesture. "Haven't had the need or want to."

"Every young man should experience New Orleans." He slid his fingers along the rim of his bowler hat. "I promise you it's where the last bit of this Earth's magic hides."

"You talkin' voodoo?" We approached the counter where we were supposed to pay for our tickets for the ferry. When I attempted to pay for my own, Luxord brushed me aside and started talking before I could protest.

"Not that voodoo hoodoo malarkey." He handed me my ticket after a quick exchange with the clerk. "Human magic, boy, life's magic."

Staring at the print on the slip of paper in my open palm, I furrowed my eyebrows and wondered what kind of person he was to be talking about all this weird shit I didn't have any mind to care about. When he beckoned for me to follow, I opened my mouth to thank him for the ticket, but he shut me down with a sound that made me wonder if he had attempted to mimic a horse. He had blown a raspberry to tell me to shut up, and I wasn't sure if I should've been amused or ready to punch him in the throat. Taking charity or any kind of financial assistance didn't sit well with me. Not that he gave an inkling of a care.

"Do you have any prior lodging arrangements?"

"I was going to find a room somewhere and—"

"Nonsense!" He swung an arm around my shoulder, and I blanked my face. "You stay with me and the little lady."

Luxord had a mouth on him that never stopped. He was the kind of man that needed to document your entire family history the second he got to know you. From the way he was dressed, I sort of figured that was something he was bred to be concerned about. It was a high society thing where everyone needed to identify what blood you had running through your veins because apparently that shit mattered. Half the time my momma wasn't certain she remembered how to spell my pa's surname right, so I had no idea what kind of value he was getting from my family roots. On the other hand, when he asked me if my boots really were alligator hide, he showed a bearable side with his enthusiasm for the whole process of hunting alligator.

"Real brawns are required to do it." And he flexed his arms. "I've got nothing."

By then I was leaned over the chipped railing of the ferry, watching the murky water drift past. "We start going on the boats pretty damn young. You're kind of conditioned into it. Alligator wrangling is one of those things that take a certain breed. They'd never let no one on one of those boats without experience."

"No tourists then?"

"_Never_."

"Curious lot you people are." That must have got him thinking. "What brings you here anyway?"

"Hunting down a friend."

I hadn't divulged enough, and he was bold enough to push the topic. "Are we talking a special kind of friend? I know a lot of people, boy. We could find 'em nice and fast."

"I'm not one for aid."

"Don't consider it charity, Barrow." Lips pursing. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two."

Luxord chuckled, and the expression I made must have clued him in on my lack of amusement because his laughter only deepened. The tip of my boot kicked against the scraped up railing, and I was done being a nice, polite kid who didn't pollute up the elder's air. Lighting up again, I wasn't about to waste this cigarette when I wasn't sure how much they cost in the city. I didn't even like to smoke from a pack and only did it when it wasn't convenient to roll my own. Travelling was an example of aforementioned circumstantial inconvenience.

"My daughter is the pride and joy of my life." I hadn't been paying attention to what Luxord had to say up until that point. There was something about the political situation in New Orleans that was only so interesting when you weren't from the area. "She's a good girl, that one; seventeen and purer than heaven itself. Sweet heart, apple of my eye, the prettiest peach the south has to offer. You got yourself a sweetheart, Barrow? My daughter's done got herself a nice fiancé lined up, but I know I didn't get married to her momma 'til my late twenties. You seem too young to be locked down by a lady."

My jaw temporarily locked. "Sweetheart, yeah. Somethin' like that."

"Those sort really do come and go."

Luxord lived in the wealthy Garden District within the currently subdued New Orleans, and had I known exactly what the hell that meant before taking a cab into the neighborhood, then I'd say I wasn't surprised. The blocks were tight constellations of houses that replicated Roxas' momma's estate, and all I could think about with bitterness leaking onto my tongue was how I was looking at old plantation houses. They were structures groomed and primped until they were explosions of sun choked roses, snaking ivies, and starbursts of pink streaked grasses with eccentrically painted shutters to set the duplications apart. Vault mansions peppered with streak free windows; the jewelry boxes for pretty women adorned in silks courted by men wearing boots crafted from the skins of the beasts I'd obliterated; double barrel shot gun from my boat.

The cobblestone driveway to the front of Luxord's pampered home left me with sweaty palms and furrowed eyebrows. Cotton tongue was an understatement in that moment, and I wondered if one's mouth could flake away from nervousness. My intentions had been to stay hidden and out of sight until I could track down my little princely blond and drag his happy ass on home to his mother where he belonged. The kid was eighteen and apparently on his own, and God bless his fucking soul; he wasn't the toughest hornet in the nest. This situation seemed botched to me because what in the Sam Hill did this man want from me? He was being almost too Christian, and though I wasn't about to judge good intentions, it was strange.

"We went around the city, but you bet yourself big that you'll get to see the heart while here."

That explained the lack of wonderment I was processing. The entire drive had been through neighborhoods in an attempt to avoid any kind of traffic, and though I could see the city's historical buildings creeping up above the spidery oaks interwoven with Twilight Crape Myrtles, there hadn't been anything too in depth yet. Not that I was complaining. After that hellish train ride all I could think about was some place to sleep and food. Food sounded good right about then, and this predicament with Luxord wasn't making the ache in my stomach see a fast approaching end.

"I doubt I'll be going out or anything. Not like I need to—"

Boisterous laughter followed that, and a hand smacked the in between of my shoulder blades until I was sure my lungs had dislodged. "Twenty-two and you're talking like a man in his golden years. Don't be a fool."

Out of the car and onto the cooking walkway just in time for that towering front door to fling open, and out ran a young woman with black, coiffed hair and a key lime dress that had my eyebrows quirked up. She was a little thing, that one, but her face said she wasn't under fifteen, and her body hinted that she wasn't far from her early twenties. Surprisingly fair skinned considering the amount of sun that pooled into Louisiana, I figured she was the kind of miss that had no reason to be out in daylight unless she was carrying an umbrella. She was wearing pearls; of course she was that kind. From then on, all I could dwell on was how she'd be having babies within two years, and she'd never see a single one of them because of the nannies. She'd be like Roxas' momma. Sweet and kind, but damn well disconnected.

"Sunshine!" Luxord embraced this young girl, and I could have sworn I heard her call him _daddy _in that muffled hug. "I brought you presents!"

"I'm just happy you're home!" She escaped the hug and sky eyes met mine for a fleeting second before she gave her father a strong look of inquiry. Her nose scrunched up, and damn, she was the prettiest thing I'd ever seen. This girl was a southern gem through and through. "Are you going to introduce me to this gentleman?"

"Yes, yes," and he turned towards me. "Xion, this is Axel Barrow. Met him at the station, and he's a fine fellow."

What kind of ass backwards name was Xion?

My hand extended, and I gently took those offered, willowy fingers. The fact that her hands reminded me of Roxas' made me wish the kid was right beside me because I would have given him nine kinds of hell for my own amusement. He had absolutely hated it when I pointed out his feminine features, but boy did I enjoy that Napoleon complex when it was in full throttle. He'd straighten up his posture, dig the heels of those boots into the ground, and then for the love of God, he'd screw up his face in this way that was supposed to be angry, but it was a pout. He'd pout at me, and within minutes of giving me such an expression, we'd end up stumbling back into the bedroom. Those times were more frequent when neither one of us were too certain what we were doing, but he promised it was right, and it felt good. He never lied to me.

"She's just as pretty as you said." I freed her hand from my gentle grip and gave her a smile that was returned with one from her that set off a couple bells. Arched eyebrows and simpers were never good news on pretty women, and I had learned that damn lesson thrice over. One cut off engagement, a good slap across the face and then a crazy broad with mattress skills suited for a French whore that I had been dodging until Roxas took over my house.

"Looks just like her momma." Luxord offered his arm to his daughter, and I followed them towards the front door wondering why I was going with the motions here when I had no reason to be. "You're welcome to stay with us for as long as you like, Barrow. Might have to talk business with you about that leather, but not in the presence of a lady."

My momma would have knocked him on his ass had he said that in her presence, but I nodded and began thumbing through the possibilities in my brain. There was a lot of money to be had in that kind of operation, and though I'd definitely gained more schooling than the majority in my village and spent plenty of time with my nose shoved in books, that didn't mean I was a business man. My strong points were physical labor and sometimes _doodling_ as my momma called it. Though it had annoyed her in the beginning when I'd sit at the kitchen table and draw everything, she eventually began to indulge the habit behind my pa's back.

_"Draw me that apple, sugar." My mother's shockingly red hair was swept back away from her face, and she looked worn as she cored her own piece of fruit by hand with a tiny yet incredibly sharp knife. I'd watched Pa use the same utensil on fish, and it filleted through flesh like it was room temperature butter. "And don't skimp on the details."_

_ "It's just an apple." But I picked up my pencil and flipped to a clean sheet. "Drawing an apple ain't fun."_

_ "God created the simple things, and sometimes we forget to appreciate them." She glanced over her shoulder. "He also gave you a gift other than that shot you have. Your daddy can be proud of that talent and groom it, but when you're with me, we work on this one."_

Luxord had one of his maids set up a room for me, and there was something unsettling about the situation because I didn't believe in hiring any kind of help let alone having hired help do something for me. Though I hadn't been forced to watch the lady go about fixing my room, I still wasn't pleased with knowing those turned down blankets had been handled by some woman who probably wasn't getting a good amount of pay for what she did. I'd come from a long line of strong women with skin thicker than most men's, and I'd been taught that respecting a lady's integrity came before most things. Housework wasn't below any man, but people like Luxord definitely thought so.

Suddenly plopped down in a bedroom nicer than anything I'd ever been allowed to go near, my face somewhat blanked because _what in the hell was going on here_? One minute I was standing on a platform with a stupid ass expression, and the next thing I knew, I was standing in a bedroom with a silken bedspread stitched together with golden threading. Granted the same stupid ass expression was there, but it was a completely separate kind of bewilderment. It was the kind that was me processing the strange, strange luck I'd just ended up on the other end of. That being said, I was still wary because the odds of this being a solely golden road were unlikely.

"Mr. Barrow?" There was a knock on my door that followed that timid voice. "Is everything to your liking?"

Striding to that door, I opened it only to be greeted by the smallest porcelain doll I'd ever seen. Blonde hair that threatened to be seen as white, she was all doe eyes and a pleasant expression. Before me was a girl I'd come to know as Naminé. She was as old as Xion, but somehow, she looked even younger than the house's little princess. I'd later learn it was the result of childhood malnourishment and a hard life's thick layer of ash just daring her to bloom into something beautiful. She had the potential to be prettier than a damn snowflake, and I could see that from the moment I laid eyes on her.

"Everything's fine." I somewhat leaned against the door frame. "Thank you."

She introduced herself with practiced ease before paying me the strangest of compliments. "That's the prettiest hair color I've ever seen."

Pushing my fingers through my hair, I arched an eyebrow. "You don't say?"

"I do say," and those words made me laugh. "I say so quite honestly, sir. Your accent is also quite nice."

Immediately, I liked the girl. "Are you always this nice to your boss' company?"

"I'd like to think I am, but I'm not." She fiddled with the pocket opening of her apron. "Most of them are business men trying to court the lady, and I've seen raccoons with more humility than those men. You're not one of them men."

"Is it _that_ obvious?"

"Yes, yes it is." Naminé's smile was continuously pleasant. "Though, that's a good thing in my book, but I have to ask, are you having dinner with Mr. Cheraime and the lady?"

"I suppose I am."

Her lips faintly parted, and her smile vanished as she checked her simple wrist watch. Drumming her fingers along the face of said watch, Naminé suddenly pursed her lips and tapped her toe, conflicted. Looking me over, she exhaled through her nose and appeared to be on the brink of dancing in place. Right as I was about to open my mouth and inquire about her obvious malfunction, Naminé pushed her way on into my room by lightly shoving my chest. Trying to get a word out in between my sputters of surprise, I was soon on the other end of her panicked ramblings.

"Now, I've got two brothers, so let's not be bashful." She was guiding me towards the bathroom. "You see, sir, I think you look quite alright as is, but we're having guests for dinner tonight, and how you're looking won't do. No, it really won't. We need to scrub your fingernails within an inch of their poor, splintered little lives and then, if God is truly good, he'll guide me in the right direction to tame that unholy hair of yours. I think it looks lovely, but Cheraime society would be quick to disagree. Do you paint?"

All that I could process was her final question. "Sometimes."

"Well, we're blending. We're blending you into Garden district colors, and you're going to steal some hearts when we're done, I promise."

"I'm not here to do that." I tried to stop her as she plopped me down on a chair in the bathroom and began yanking off one of my boots. "I'm here to find someone."

But she wasn't in the mood to do me the favor of listening.

"For the love of all that's holy," she said with a shiver. "Do not, and I repeat, don't you go given the misses eyes, and don't look at me that way. You know what I mean. She can be right trifling sometimes. Engaged and pure is what he daddy thinks. I clean that bedroom. I know what's there."

"Do all the maids gossip to guests like this?"

"Of course not." She swatted my other booted foot so that I'd move it towards her. "But you're a guest in need, and beggars on your level can't be narcs. What I'm saying only benefits you anyway. I promise, sir, if you go messing around with that girl, she'll make sure Mr. Cheraime puts you in a sweet little setup, but then you're in debt to her. Manipulative whore she is, but she's just like her momma. People used to call her momma the Anne Boleyn of the south."

"Anne Boleyn was a pawn—"

"Oh, look, you're educated." She gave me a cautious stare. "That's some frightening value."

"Paying attention in a classroom is frightening value?" My lips twisted on over to the side, and I pressed my back against that vanity with a brow hiked to my widow's peak. "People here can't be idiots."

"No, but you're a pretty boy with a pretty accent, and now you're telling me you have a pretty _brain_?" Naminé whistled. "You're a regular _dandy_."

When my boots were shucked off, Naminé shoved me towards the shower with a pleasant little smile that really clashed with how she talked to me. So sweet and lovely on the surface, but she was adamant about making sure I fit in with the people downstairs, and I'll be the first to say I wasn't even sure how to react. There was the searing pride bubbling in the pit of my stomach that told me I should be able to wear whatever I wanted to and be as I was, but then there were those words Luxord had spoken on the ferry. He had connections, and being able to milk those would make the situation easier. In short, I needed him to find Roxas, and nothing mattered more than that. God, all I could think about was the well-being of that twerp.

Well, until Naminé took what I believe to this day was steel wool to my fingernails.

"What the hell are you doin', girl?"

"Fixing your depravednails."

"_Depraved_?"

"_Depraved_." She looked up from her scrubbing. "Would you rather me call them ugly?"

Two straight hours of grooming later, I was standing in the middle of the bedroom in nothing but a towel with a case of shivering that was more than likely the after trauma of being waxed for the first time. Naminé had gone to the ends of the universe to make sure my eyebrows were symmetrical and the hair on my navel was a perfect strip angled just so. I wasn't even sure why any of that mattered since no one was going to be looking at my personal south, but she had claimed it was essential because no one could predict the future and nothing was more damaging than talk going around about other people's sex lives except maybe theft. Even theft could be over looked if the person was charismatic enough and understood the art of bullshit, but not dirty sex.

"I think you'd look good in black." Her eyes went squinty. "It's probably the only thing that wouldn't clash with your hair."

"You're sending me mixed signals about my hair, baby girl."

I'm not sure where exactly she found the clothing, but it was a good thirty minutes after she vanished before she returned with a stack in hand. Murmuring about how someone down the way owed her a favor, I gave her a suspicious stare, but she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, Naminé tossed the garments in my face and pointed towards the bathroom.

"If they don't fit we'll _make_ them fit."

By some off chance, the black slacks managed to fit, and I was soon standing before her in a sweater vest that had me staring to the side with the word disgruntled etched into my forehead. Even though I was snarling like a chained dog, we both knew the getup somehow looked presentable. The lack of sleeves made me seem as if I was sporting my labor defined arms for show, and when she kicked my black boots towards me with a stare of approval, I plopped down on the bed to put them on with a worn exhale. Had I known this was going to happen, I'd have turned right around the second I laid eyes on Luxord. Hell, I probably would have ran.

"_Shoo_." She looked me over with hands on her tiny hips. "You look nice. Who would have thought you'd clean up like a prized thoroughbred? But you better pull that hair back or something. I don't know what else we could do with it."

Naminé checked her watch again, gasped, and suddenly strode out of my bedroom without a word of explanation. Dumbfounded, I stared at the open door with faintly parted lips before going back to making sure my boots were properly on. Once I'd slicked my hair back into a ponytail with an expression of discontent staring back at me in the mirror, my feet guided me directly out of the bedroom and down the never ending hallway that was made up of an onslaught of guest bedrooms and closets. As I meandered, incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin, I wondered what a man had to do to gain that kind of wealth only to follow those thoughts with ones about how the last thing I'd do with a large sum of money is buy a house I could get lost in.

"Mr. Barrow." A light female voice derived from the oak staircase I was standing at the top of, and I glanced down to see Xion sporting a completely different green dress and a hat that was damn near revolting. "My, my, I did not expect to see _this_."

She really was a peach.

Stepping down those stairs with a nonchalant demeanor, I wondered if women could sense when men had sweaty palms because the level of my discomfort was making me clam up. Evidently, that wasn't true. Xion glanced me over with that trained little smile girls like her were proficient at wearing and initiated some chit-chat because I wasn't one for immediate social skills. Ever since I'd set the bottle aside, functioning around others seemed that much harder, and I wondered how the rest of the world made it look so effortless. At one point, I was almost certain I'd been able to do it like everyone else. I was still trying to figure out what had changed.

"Daddy said you shoot alligators for a living." She glanced down at my boots. "Did you kill the one that's on your feet?"

Momentarily tapping the toe of one of my boots against the hardwood flooring, I looked down at it with a smug smile. "Sure did."

"Sounds dangerous." Her eyebrows raised and those lips pursed in a worried line that made me cock my head back somewhat because _damn, she was good at feigning_. She reminded me of the girls who sat around in my town's diner with their milkshakes and crop tops just waiting for one of the local boys to stick a pretty ring on their finger before knocking them up in the front seat of their rusting, hand-me-down truck cab. I'd seen a couple good friends of mine end up hitched mighty fast due to truck babies. In short, a majority of those pretending episodes meant they wanted something, and I was a tad too experienced to play along.

"It is." My words were coated with disinterest.

She caught onto my exaggerated reluctance to humor her. "Mr. Barrow, are you married?"

"No," and I offered my arm. "But I do have someone."

"I see," she said lightly before clicking her tongue and taking my arm. "I'm sure she's lovely."

"You're right." To make a point, I followed that. "I have an affinity for blondes."

"Do blondes really have more fun?" She reached up to touch her own, pitch black hair. "I tend to think I've done disproved that myth."

Holding my tongue and not making a lewd comment was enough to make my skull split. "It's a personal preference."

"Avoiding the initial question by answering an unasked question." Her lips curled into a smirking smile. "Well done."

"Don't mind me saying, ma'am." She gently guided me towards the back patio where dinner was about to be served. "But you're a surprisingly tart apple."

She let out a surprised gasp before looking at me with parted lips and a genuinely amused smile. Suddenly, Xion was letting out this wind chime laughter that was possibly the most vibrant sound I'd ever had the pleasure of hearing in my life. Motioning towards where a fountain was trickling, she continued laughing for a good while longer.

"Aren't you just the boldest goat daddy has ever brought home?"

"I take it men live to impress your pretty face and never tell you such things?"

Another gasp of surprise, but she sure as hell didn't let go of me. "Oh my _goodness._"

"Then it's true?"

"Don't let my daddy hear you talk that way in my presence." She pointed at her own mouth. "He'd be fast to rip out that tongue of yours."

"Consider me censored in his presence then." I couldn't help myself. "This here tongue deserves to be insured."

Xion's eyebrows quirked. "You are just too much, Mr. Barrow."

"You wouldn't be the first lady to tell me that."

God damn my mouth.

Lucky man that I am, Xion glanced over at me and let out another sharp laugh before swatting my arm.

"You, sir, are nothin' but trouble."

"Darling, I could say the same damn thing about you."


End file.
